


Extinguished Flame

by FlameEmber



Category: Corpse Party (Video Game), Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: And angst, Blood, M/M, also mild ishimondo, explicit for violence, graphic violence and gore, literally the entire cast of the first game, lots of death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4141602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlameEmber/pseuds/FlameEmber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Extinguished: (verb)<br/>1. to cause to cease to burn or shine<br/>2. to put an end to; annihilate </p><p>*Crossover between Dangan Ronpa and Corpse Party. Gratuitous amounts of blood and violence, as well as some Ishimondo. Told from the POV of Ishimaru.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

It's warm, yet fundamentally freezing at the exact same time. The room is dark and chilly, the only warmth emanating from a single flickering candle flame, casting a tiny globe of light and brightening up the classroom as much as it is able. Thirteen students in varying degrees of fear sit around it, poised in suspense to listen to every word spoken by Kyouko Kirigiri, whose hushed voice narrates a chilling ghost story.

Mouth curving slightly at the sight and sound of her classmates weak with fear, she continues, ignoring the gulps and gasps of fear coming from around her. "The school we are in now, Hope's Peak Academy, stands in the same location where the cursed Heavenly Host Elementary once stood. I am sure that you must all have heard of it. The teacher that you all know of, the one who fell down the stairs that day... he still has no idea that he died on that day."

"R-really?" Makoto Naegi, a timid boy with no outstanding characteristics other than an ever-present hoodie and an impressive ahoge, speaks up in fear, limbs twitching slightly as he tries to conceal his trepidation.

A slow, solemn nod. "They say that on rainy days after school like this one, he still roams through these dark hallways. Yes... right around seven at night..." Thirteen pairs of eyes dart to the clock on the wall, which reads two minutes to seven precisely. A collective ripple of fear surges through the room.

Kiyotaka Ishimaru, unfond of supernatural phenomena, frowns deeply, attempting in vain to restore order to the gathering while he himself feels a chill creeping its way slowly down the length of his spine; he shivers involuntarily. Beside him, as if catching on to the prefect's fear, Mondo Oowada sighs before reaching out a large hand to ruffle the smaller male's hair while trying - and failing - to conceal his own fear.

Near them, Chihiro Fujisaki trembles, legs drawing close to a slender frame. A shudder passes through the teen's entire body, and the programmer can't help but let out a tiny, almost imperceptible sob.

On the other side of the room, Aoi Asahina, an upbeat swimmer, shrinks into the large form of her best friend, Sakura Oogami, sapphire eyes wide with dismay. The other students, small huddle beginning to draw closer together, also display various elevated levels of uneasiness, with the exception of one Celestia Ludenberg. The gothic girls simply appears to have a bored countenance; she seems unable to do anything but roll her eyes at the expressions littering the faces in the room, undoubtedly wishing she were attending a game of poker instead.

"P-please continue, Kirigiri-san..." whispers Chihiro in a soft and transparent, whispery voice, scared but excited for the next part of the story to be told. The purple eyed girl simply smiles cryptically and nods once before closing her eyes, allowing lavender irises to hide behind pale lids. "Whenever that teacher appears, he is always accompanied by a sudden blackout. Then you will undoubtedly hear two knocks from the classroom door, and as the door slowly opens, well... You get the general idea, I am sure." Kirigiri herself jumps as two knocks resonate from the nearby door. Everybody else, with the unsurprising exception of Togami, screams or makes some small noise of terror, most noticeably Mondo, who lets out a high-pitched and very uncharacteristic scream as his body trembles slightly. Beside him, Kiyotaka whimpers softly, crimson eyes wide and horror-stricken.

The candle blows out, the one, singular speck of warmth vanished and extinguished; a chill settles over the room as everybody shrieks, plunged into sudden darkness.

"K-Kirigiri! Stop screwin' with us!" Mondo protests, gritting his teeth while narrowing fierce violet eyes and trying to regain some of his perceived manliness.

"It isn't me, trust me!" Kirigiri whirls around, panic now evident in her normally placid and emotionless face. All on their feet now, all eyes flit around the room, locking on the door when it finally, after what feels like an excruciating amount of time, slowly slides open. A pale hand reaches out of the inky abyss to grip it, and a deep, haunting, ghastly voice rings out. "Is anyone still here...?" Shrieks of terror can be heard from some distance outside before finally the lights switch on, casting a reassuring - if artificial - shine over the terrified teens. The students freeze, some with tears in their eyes, as their vision begins to adjust to the scene in front of them. The person at the door is not some evil specter, not at all; in fact, it is soon revealed to be none other than Jin Kirigiri, headmaster of the school and Kyouko's father.

There's a collective sigh of relief, punctuated by a few moans of exasperation.

"O-Oi! What the fuck was that?" Mondo demands, only to be quelled with a harsh and absolutely mortified glare from Kiyotaka.

"Please, Kyoudai! I am afraid as well, but that does not mean you are allowed to use unsavory language!"

The headmaster only smiles.

"Please, do not worry about it, Ishimaru-kun. Although it is hardly ideal, I am sure most of us are used to Oowada-kun's language by now, crude as it may be." _Crude_ was a light term for it.

Kyouko clears her throat loudly, stepping to the center of the room as she presses her gloved palms together pensively.

"I apologize for the fright, everyone. However, it is now time for the main event, the main reason I gathered you all here tonight." Swiftly and almost as if from nowhere, she produces a thin, flimsy paper doll. Everyone gapes in confusion.

"As you all know, we are graduating tomorrow... I have read of this charm online, and I supposed it could not hurt to try it out. According to renowned spiritualist Touko Fukawa's blog, on which I located the charm, if the ritual is done correctly, we shall all remain friends for the duration of the amount of time we retain our own paper scrap."

As the others blink in still uncleared confusion, the lilac-haired girl extends the paper figure towards the center of the group, making sure to hold on with a gloved hand.

"All you have to do it chant 'Sachiko, we beg of you' the same amount of times as there are people in the group. That makes fourteen, then."

The rest of the students sigh before smiling softly, moving to grasp the doll beside Kyouko and her father. She appears relieved.

"Alright, then... Simply recite the charm fourteen times, and don't mess it up!"

There's a momentary, eerie pause where everything is quiet; then, the silence is broken once more.

"There. Now, all we must do is break it apart. On the count of three, pull!"

As the class does so, a loud peal of thunder sounds from just outside the window. Naegi and Chihiro quiver in fear even as the sound of ripping paper fills everyone's ears, and each student holds up their own piece of the Sachiko doll.

Their happiness is only fleeting, however, for before anyone can move or even speak, there is a loud cracking noise from beneath the group's feet, almost as if the earth yearns to suck them into its gaping expanse of a maw.

Screams emanate from the students as each of them rushes to grab hold of something sturdy and substantial in an effort to remain on the superior side of the ground; however, it's a fruitless attempt. Lights break away from their place on the ceiling, smashing with a loud crash and tinkle of glass upon the floor; the ground begins to crack apart before it inexplicably collapses, sending all sixteen careening down into a dark and nightmarish place with absolutely no clue what is going on and every nerve alight with pure, unadulterated terror.

Kiyotaka Ishimaru,  
Mondo Oowada,  
Chihiro Fujisaki,  
Kyouko Kirigiri,  
Aoi Asahina,  
Sakura Oogami,  
Leon Kuwata,  
Mukuro Ikusaba,  
Yasuhiro Hagakure,  
Makoto Naegi,  
Hifumi Yamada,  
Sayaka Maizono,  
and Celestia Ludenberg.


	2. Awoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiyotaka wakes up, in a place that can only be described as a living hell.

When Kiyotaka awakes, he's lying prone on cold and filthy floorboards in an unfamiliar, strange place. Uncurling his stiff and sore body from the almost fetal position he'd been furled into, he raises himself up shakily, bracing his palm flat against the floor and leaning all his weight on a trembling elbow and forearm. 

His uniform - his uniform, which he takes great pride in, which he keeps the purest of white and ironed into perfectly flat creases - is beginning to take on a brownish tint with dirt, and it has become torn in more than one place. The air has an odd scent to it, too; a scent Kiyotaka can't quite identify, for he's certainly never smelled it before in his life. It's heavy and ominous, hanging in the air like smog - the smell of death. 

Glancing around fearfully, he raises a hand to his head with some degree of trepidation; there's an ache pounding fiercely in the back of his skull, as if he struck it as some point during his fall. His thoughts seem to be slightly disjointed as well, sticking fuzzily to the edges of his consciousness and refusing to fully form. The idea of a concussion flits through his discombobulated mind for only a second before dissociating into fluff again.

Hefting a heavy sigh, the disciplinarian reaches out to brace himself against a nearby wall, legs trembling as he slides up to stand straight and on two feet, even if he wobbles a little. He must have been knocked out during the fall, but he isn't sure how long he's been out. The darkness outside the window is no indication whatsoever. Giving his scalp one last rub with his fingertips, he allows his hand to fall to his side once more; he takes a tentative step forward, pausing only when he spots, lying on the floor no more than two paces away, the small scrap of paper from the Sachiko charm. He bends swiftly to scoop it up before bringing it close to ruby irises for inspection.

"This small scrap of paper is supposed to represent the bond of friendship we all share... correct? In that case, I had best keep hold of it, and treasure it deeply."

Tucking it into his uniform pocket, he lets out a deep breath before shakily moving to the doorway, fingernails sinking into the soft and impressionable wood as he stumbles slightly. He's afraid to look down for the reason. 

He knows this place is sinister and untrustworthy, but he hadn't pegged it to be a place of death. The next step he takes - as well as the next breath - proves him indubitably, irrevocably, woefully incorrect. 

The prefect's ruby eyes widen as the stench of rotten, putrid flesh hits his nostrils; he falls with a thud to the floor, knees aching from the force with which his body hits the wooden floorboards as he struggles for breath. Swallowing down the bile forming at the back of his throat and threatening to spill from his lips, the hall monitor scrambles to get up, falling to the floor once more as a booted foot slips and skids in a puddle of something - _something_ , Kiyotaka refuses to allow his brain to give a name to it, to realize what it is, even though he already knows - red and sticky. The liquid splashes as the weight of his body hits the ground; the disciplinarian lets out a strangled scream as he crawls back, not caring about the splinters in his hands, not caring about the wood and dirt and filth underneath his nails, just wanting to get out of there get out get out **GET OUT -**

For lying there in front of him, hazel eyes dim and glassy with the haze of death and wide with panic, is the mangled and barely distinguishable body of Chihiro Fukisaki. Kiyotaka's seen death before - it's impossible to not have, by his age- but this is something entirely different. The teen who lies in front of him - blood dripping from the mouth, where it is entirely evident the tongue is missing, body almost completely torn in two - was alive and laughing just a few hours ago. Kiyotaka feels sick. He crawls to the wall, fingertips catching on the rough surface as he gasps for breath, praying for reality to break him out of this nightmare, out of this horrid world he's found himself in - but he's not graced with any form of a reply. He lets out a choked sob, leaning back against the rough-hewn wall as he breathes in and out deeply, ignoring the stench wafting into his nose. He doesn't think he can be around his friend's corpse right now, but he also doesn't think he can be anywhere else. Chihiro is familiar, a slight - even if nonliving - comfort in such a cold and unforgiving plane of existence. 

It's a moment, or perhaps a few, before he gathers the courage to crawl closer to the body, rational part of his mind ordering him to in hopes of finding something that may become useful to him. His friend's body seems almost like a broken rag doll - ripped apart and torn open at the seams. A lone, bloodied shoe lies not far from the body, square in the middle of a puddle of the programmer's blood. The disciplinarian gulps quickly before advancing further, but his brave facade only lasts until the moment he steps on intestines; the organ squishing and squelching under his foot, he lets out a panicked shriek, pressing his body flat against the wall as he struggles to combat the fight-or-flight response currently overtaking his body and causing his muscles to tremble. 

His ears finally catch the ghastly sound of a horrible, piercing strangled scream that it takes him more than a few moments to recognize as coming from his own throat. Chest heaving with his labored breathing, he endeavors to force his heart rate back to normal. It isn't working; he can't be here any longer. He's terrified, disgusted, and distraught, all at once. Finally, he gives in to his body's natural reflexes, and turns to flee. However, his heart leaps and threatens to flutter out of his chest as his foot slips once more in a sizable puddle of blood; his own blood rushes in his ears as he prepares to face the very real possibility of faceplanting into his friend's body. He closes his eyes, squeezes them tightly shut and prepares for impact, only opening them once he hears a familiar voice shout "Oi!" and feels a hand gripping the back of his uniform tightly, setting him back on his feet before he has a chance to hit the filthy ground.

"K-Kyoudai...?"

Kiyotaka blinks in surprise for only a second before he's launched his body forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Mondo's waist, holding on as if he believes the biker will disappear - or worse, end up like Chihiro - if given the slightest chance. 

The gang leader grimaces in a way that he hopes is somehow reassuring, although his own heart is racing in terror. 

"The fuck is this place? 'S all dark, I can't see shit... Are ya ok?" 

The disciplinarian simply whimpers softly, tears streaming down pallid cheeks as he finally pulls away from his friend's chest. 

"N-No... I believe I hit my head, I must have been unconscious for the past couple hours at least..." He points with a shuddering finger to the body on the floor, sniffling as Mondo's lavender eyes widen.

"Jesus fuck... Fujisaki?! H-Hey, what kinda shit place is this? What the hell? Chihiro!"

Wiping the tears from his eyes, the prefect shrugs. "The worst place imaginable, I should think. Please... I am simply relieved you are safe, Kyoudai." He can't speak the words he's been thinking - that he doesn't know what he would do if Mondo were to die. He imagines he would fall into a deep depression of sorts, although he isn't entirely sure. He does not wish to test the possibility. 

"Yeah... 'm damn glad yer safe too, Ishi. Come on, we gotta go... can't stand around lookin' at this all day. 'Sides, 's probably better to give Fujisaki some privacy..." Gripping the hall monitor's sleeve and gritting his teeth almost audibly, Mondo tugs Kiyotaka away from the scene, chest heaving in an effort to avoid letting tears leak from his violet eyes.

Kiyotaka can't help but offer one last glance back, tears dripping freely from his eyes, as he retreats. He can't avoid the fact that there is a very real possibility of dying in this horrible, horrible place, and that the only thing to do is struggle to survive. He doesn't know what this space is, or why he's present there, but he has no choice but to accept the fact that his fate is no longer in his own hands. He clings to Mondo's arm, taking a deep breath as he clenches his free hand into a fist, resolving to do whatever he needs to in order to ensure the survival of as many of his classmates as possible. He will not give up on them. He will not let them down. It is simply not a possibility.


	3. Impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Ishimaru's mind, Mondo must be delusional. After all, ghosts don't and can't exist... right?
> 
> (The next chapter will be longer and will be out much sooner, I promise!!)

Somewhere in the school Leon's pierced ears pick up the sound of the prefect's ragged, frantic scream; he's close enough for it to be audible, yet far enough away that the sound is faint and muted. Gulping thickly, he runs a hand through gelled, carrot-dyed hair, clenching a fist as he hurries forward; he has to keep moving.

\---------------------

Still whimpering slightly in distress and agitation, Kiyotaka scurries to keep up with Mondo's larger strides; taking a deep breath to try to regain his composure, the prefect finally latches on to his friend's signature long coat. 

"Mondo." 

To his own surprise, his voice doesn't stutter at all, nor does it display his timidity. 

"Yeah?"

He gulps. "Do you know where we are going? And I feel as if I must ask - how long have you been in this school? I woke up only a few moments before you found me..."

There's a momentary pause, which to Kiyotaka's restless consciousness feels like an eternity.

"...A couple hours, maybe? Time ain't really a thing anymore, I guess, it don't really matter."

The prefect doesn't quite understand. 

"Just tryin' to survive, 's all that matters... Not time, it don't matter how long you've been in here if you survive."

A slow, slight nod from the hall monitor.

"So then, Kyoudai... You have done some exploration of the premises on which we are currently located?"

The biker nods.

"Yeah. And we're goin' to the front entrance. 'S an elementary school, it's gotta have one. I bet _that's_ our ticket outta here."

Kiyotaka pauses, the image of Chihiro's horribly mangled and disfigured body flashing through his mind. "W-Wait! We cannot simply _leave!_ What about our friends, our classmates? You wish to just leave them behind?" His ruby eyes wide with horror and consternation, he recoils from his friend on reflex.

"Wait just a goddamned second, Ishi! I never said that shit; stop puttin' words in my mouth!" the biker roars in indignation, hands curled tightly into fists as he slams a hard punch - as hard as he can manage - into a nearby wall. He breathes heavily for a moment, silence cutting through the brief argument.

"I never said we were gonna leave 'em behind." Voice quieter now, he lets his newly unfurled fist drop back to his side. "We ain't gonna leave 'em. We're gonna scout out the situation, see if there even _is_ an escape route anywhere. It'd be bad to get their hopes up for nothin'." A slight pause.

"Not to mention it's gonna be fuckin' hard to get everyone together. We don't even know who's alive anymore, yanno?" Another pause. Kiyotaka's still not saying anything.

"Let's keep movin', 'kay?"

The prefect suddenly reaches out to stop him, bracing a hand against the biker's broad shoulder. 

"Wait. Why will it be difficult to congregate our classmates?"

Another deep, deep sigh from Mondo.

"Look. We both saw Fujisaki back there. There's no guarantee the rest of 'em ain't like that too. Hell, there's no guarantee _we_ ain't gonna end up like that." He lets out a short, tiny laugh; the most inopportune of moments.

"Kyoudai, I do not wish to think about what happened to Fujisaki. But that does not mean the rest of our classmates shall be the same!" His eyes are beginning to cloud with tears now; his hands ball into fists as his rating on the emotional scale rises a notch or perhaps five. 

"It absolutely must must _must_ have been some horrible, _terrible_ accident or coincidence! This is simply a run-down old school we have somehow become ensnared in! Or do you, Oowada-kun, mean to tell me there is some sort of serial killer trapped alongside us?"

Mondo cringes; he hasn't heard 'Oowada-kun' used to describe him since their first week as freshmen. Moving quickly, he turns, grabbing the disciplinarian's shoulders with more roughness than he had intended, voice almost dangerously low.

"There's all kinds of shit in this school, Ishi. Ghosts an' bodies an' things ya don't wanna see. Torture devices, deadly traps."

Ignoring the biker's comment about bodies and torture devices, Kiyotaka lets a tiny smile crack across his lips.

"But Kyoudai, everyone knows the simple fact that ghosts do not exist!"

Mondo gets close now, making the disciplinarian cringe in unwarranted fright. The gang leader moves to tightly grip the front of Kiyotaka's uniform, lavender eyes meeting crimson in grim sincerity. 

"Anythin' can exist here, Ishi. I've seen it with m' own two eyes. Nothin' is impossible."

Backing away, he releases the other male, eyes going wide.

"S-Sorry..."

Brushing off his uniform - even though it's a futile attempt; the once snowy white fabric is stained, ripped, and slightly bloody - Kiyotaka shakes his head, peering up at the taller male with startlingly red ruby eyes that momentarily make Mondo cringe, for they are sanguine, and remind him of the color of blood. 

"It is fine, Kyoudai. I could not help but note, however, that you claim to have seen horrific things for yourself... Just what did you witness while I was unconscious?"

The pompadoured youth sighs for a moment. Silence weighs heavily in the air as he pauses.

Then, finally: "Ya really wanna know?"

A fevered nod. "Of course I do! In a life and death situation such as this, it is vital and crucial to understand what we are up against, especially if we hope to rescue the others as well as ourselves!"

Envying the prefect's enthusiasm and optimism, Mondo nods finally. 

"Alright. I'll tell ya."


	4. Joke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mondo recounts the uncomfortable events he's experienced since waking up inside the school. But he doesn't tell all of it, for there are certain things which he would rather nobody know.

"I'll tell ya," Mondo repeats, slumping finally onto the grimy - not to mention absolutely filthy - floor. Kiyotaka follows suit, with a quick and fretful glance to either side. Shivering slightly, the prefect pulls his knees tightly to his chest, peering at his Kyoudai with some trepidation. After what seems like forever, the biker heaves a deep sigh. 

"So first, I woke up in some shitty old room..."

\---------------------

With a deep and guttural groan, Mondo pushes himself to his feet, body aching in every place he knows how to name and more. Casting a glance upwards at a dingy ceiling, illuminated only by a few shabby and cracked fluorescent lights he is sure worked well at some point or another, he staggers slightly as blood flows and surges rapidly to his brain. His eyes quickly absorb the state of his surroundings; the biker frowns softly in confusion as he takes a slow and uncertain step forwards. He's never seen any place like this before, and is completely discombobulated.

_How the fuck did I get here? Hell, where the fuck even is 'here'?_

The wooden floorboards creak ominously as Mondo rolls his shoulders, glancing up, down, left, right. Taking another step forward, he very nearly wobbles into a sizable hole in the floor; treading backwards, he gulps, confidence wavering. The amount of desks and chairs surrounding him is numerous, although they appear rather small - the perfect size for elementary school children, he thinks briefly - and so wholly rotten that he doesn't trust them to hold his weight.

Spotting a window finally, he races towards it as fast as his legs can carry him, narrowly avoiding tripping over his own feet in the process. He tugs at the latch, utterly ungratified when he finds it immovable. Slamming a fist on the glass with all the strength he can muster, he remains thoroughly frustrated when the window remains solidly in place as if it were a mere decoration on the wall. Rain droplets trickle in a rivulet down the surface, as if taunting Mondo with the fact that they are outside and he is not. 

He quickly strides to the other end of the room, chest heaving with a sigh of relief as he spots a door which is cracked open slightly. Still, he allows lavender eyes to cast a glance over the rest of the room - a teacher's podium, a small and derelict bookcase, a large blackboard with a multitude of long, deep gouges - before settling on a seemingly innocuous yellowing sheet of paper pinned to the wall. 

Glancing at the door quickly as if to ensure it will remain open, he hurriedly crosses to the paper, squinting at it, for the writing is somewhat smudged and difficult to comprehend. The biker soon determines that it is a school newsletter, with the title _"Heavenly Host - Notice to All Faculty and Students"_ printed quite legibly upon it. 

_Wait a fuckin' second._ He squints again, rereading the single line. _Ain't Heavenly Host that school Kirigiri was talkin' 'bout? The one that came before Hope's Peak? The one where that teacher kicked the bucket?_

Mondo takes a step back, more confused than ever and more than a bit daunted. 

_The fuck? I dunno how the fuck I got here, but this ain't Hope's Peak! Did I go back in time or some shit?_

Whipping his head around wildly, he glances at his surroundings yet again.

_No, impossible, this place's too damn old and in bad shape. 'S no way I'm back in time!_

_...But then, where the fuck am I? W-Where is everyone else? Kyoudai? Kirigiri? Maizono? Hell, even Kuwata?_

_..._

He takes in a deep breath, mouth instantly going dry; he swallows thickly, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth as his head begins to throb unrelentingly. Falling to his knees, the gang leader clutches his cranium tightly with both hands, squeezing as if to force his thoughts right out of his brain. 

_I... fuck, I can't be all alone! Not again!_

He hasn't felt quite this deserted and isolated since his brother Daiya's disappearance, a year ago.

_Where the hell am I? A different dimension? And where the fuck are all the others?_

He takes a deep breath, large frame quivering so violently he can hear the chattering of his teeth knocking together. Punching the wall as hard and solidly as he can, he finally forces his emotions in check, managing to calm himself down a scant amount. He can still feel the sensation of his heart beating a million miles per hour, palpitating within his chest. 

_It's okay, everything's gonna be fine. Those assholes are just playin' a joke on me, thinkin' they'll have a good laugh at me bein' scared... Well I ain't gonna let them! I ain't gotta be scared of a little old haunted house!_

A nervous laugh escapes his lips, almost like a giggle; the noise is much less cocksure and self-assured than the words he's spouting off inside the safety of his head. 

_Where the hell'd they get all the shit to build this? Heh, now I look, I can really tell it's all a damn fake joke!_

Slightly more reassured now, Mondo gets to his feet, gulping slightly as he lets the sheet of paper - which he hadn't noticed he'd torn from the wall - drift carelessly to the floor. 

Sliding open the door with an ominous creak, he ventures out into the hall, only to stop short as his nostrils pick up the scent of rot; he flinches instinctively.

_They're really goin' all out for this, aren't they?_

Taking a further step into the shadows, he is slightly reassured to see that the hallway appears somewhat similar to the room he'd awoken in; splintered and broken floorboards, grimy windows, and flickering lights.

_Yeah,_ he scoffs to himself, _it's all just part of the joke. No sweat, right?_

Rolling his shoulders back and puffing out his chest in a false show of courage, he strides forward, wrinkling his nose imperceptibly as he glances toward a small metal bucket lying suspiciously in a corner and _oh god is that piss?!_

Clamping a hand over his mouth at the acrid stench, he practically runs down the hall, only allowing himself to breathe freely as he reaches the end.

Mondo finds himself faced with the prospect of entering either a darkened stairwell, or a corridor that veers sharply to the right. With a quick glance toward the sinister-looking shadows and gloom of the stairway, he decides to go for the hallway. Simply looking at the staircase leaves a bad feeling in his mouth - not to mention a building sensation of despair.

The biker shakes it off, stepping down the hallway and entering a dilapidated room with a strong feeling of trepidation. However, he isn't exactly sure where else he can go.

_I gotta find those fuckers, right? And it ain't like there's any real danger here!_

Nodding to himself and lulling himself into a false security, he glances around the room; his lavender gaze is instantly drawn to two pieces of paper. One lies upon a desk, and the other on the floor. 

Mondo rushes towards the paper on the desk, not sure he can bring himself to get close to the floor just yet; it crumples slightly in his fist.

_Reader,_  
_I am afraid I must apologize. You see, the undeniable fact is that you are confined within this space. This school... it is separate from the world you know. If you have friends alongside you, consider yourself blessed. If not, I am sorry. The truth of the matter is, you will likely never see them again. They are stuck, just as you, only in separate dimensions. It is possible you will be able to meet with them... but it is nigh on impossible you will escape. I am sorry._

With a growl of anger, Mondo fully crumples the letter into a tiny ball, lavender eyes alight with fury.

_Those fuckers! Do they think this is fuckin' funny, makin' me think 'm all alone and gonna die? I ain't gonna fall for it! This is all fuckin' bullshit!_

With a sigh, he crosses the room to glance at the paper on the floor; it reads _"Four Children Missing at Heavenly Host."_ The biker quickly scans the newspaper article, letting out another sigh of annoyance as he turns and leaves.

_Pretty sure I've heard that story before. Sad._

He's left with no choice but to go up the overshadowed stairs, a move which he soon regrets. Climbing the steps, he turns to glance behind him; hands outstretched so as to feel anything which may be obstructing his movement, he is soon surprised to feel a sharp pain piercing through his fingertip. Whipping his head back at the sensation, he glances down to see crimson blood drip down his digit, finally falling to the floor. 

With a muffled swear, he shoves the afflicted finger in his mouth, eyes widening as he spots the cause of his injury. 

Sharp silver wires criss-cross every which way across the landing of the stairwell; he flinches as he imagines what would have happened had he run blindly into them. 

_Why the fuck... This is dangerous, goddammit!_

He steps and twists cautiously around them - doing a rather good impression of a game of limbo - before letting out a sigh of relief as he lands on solid, seemingly-safe ground. But then he looks down.

Blue hair fans out across the dirty floor, stained a deep red with blood. The girl's face is hidden - her decapitated head is turned in such a way that he cannot see her features - but it isn't hard to discern her identity nonetheless. Mondo almost stumbles backwards into the wires. 

It is exceedingly obvious that she ran headlong into the razor sharp piano wire - fleeing from whom, Mondo isn't sure. The most horrifying thing about the body is that it is cleanly sliced into multiple pieces - a stockinged leg here, a disembodied arm there, a torso sporting a large pink ribbon, now liberally daubed and smeared with blood.  
The pompadoured youth takes a shaky step forward to step over the body - stomach lurching slightly as a white-loafered foot steps directly in a cooling puddle of wine-red blood. 

Kneeling beside the body, he peers at the girl's face - praying to any god in existence that he's wrong - only to have his suspicions horribly confirmed.

Sapphire blue eyes, which used to sparkle with mirth, now dull and lifeless in death, with none of the vibrance they used to carry. Three hair clips, shaken loose from their owner's hair as she violently fell, most likely writhing in pain for her last few moments alive, rest by the corpse; they too are marred with the idol's blood. Her mouth is open wide as if in a morbid parody of her life as a singer; twin rivulets of blood trickle from it, likely coughed up from bisected lungs. Mondo can't help but gulp, heart racing like a frightened animal. He supposes that's all he is, in this place.

"M-Maizono?" he croaks, shaking the pop star's shoulders as if his actions would somehow reattach all of her body parts and reanimate the singer. "Maizono! Get up! This ain't funny!"

He staggers back, rump hitting the staircase with a thump as he falls to a seated position. "M-Maizono..." Head clutched tightly within his palms, he gulps, mouth dry once more. His body is trembling more than ever before; violet eyes, opened wide, twitch and shudder uncontrollably within his eye sockets. "N-No..." he whimpers, unable to believe the sight before his eyes.

_This ain't a fuckin' joke... This shit's real... I'm gonna die! Kyoudai's gonna die! Shit... I gotta find him..._

He staggers to his feet, casting a last sympathetic glance towards Sayaka's corpse, before he surges up the stairs. "Kyoudai! Ishimaru!" Mondo shouts, wincing at the raspy sound of his own voice. He's going to start needing a drink soon.

Finally - _finally_ \- after what feels like forever, he hears the sound of a scream that is unmistakably Kiyotaka's. The heart-stopping thought is, though, what if it's the prefect who is the next victim?

\---------------------

"So, uh, yeah, that's what happened," Mondo concludes, looking away. He's managed to cover all the important details about the things he's discovered, but omit his nervous breakdown. Kiyotaka doesn't need to know about that.


	5. Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all lies, these ghostly whispers are all lies. None of them are true.
> 
> But when he's all alone, Kiyotaka can't help but to cave slightly.

"I see," Kiyotaka says after a long, drawn-out pause; his face is scrunched up and downcast, as if he is narrowly staving off bursting into tears. "So... Maizono-kun is lost to us too, then..."

Finally the hall monitor stands, brushing off his white uniform pants before wiping his visibly pale face with a clammy hand. 

"Before we advance onward to the entrance hall... Could I, perhaps, visit the bathroom first?"

He'd like to wash his hands, if at all possible.

Gulping, Mondo nods, rising to his feet as well. 

"I think I saw one up these stairs..."

They're both unsteady on their feet and in shock, but somehow they manage to make their way to the bathrooms without any mishap.

Kiyotaka gulps now, glancing around. 

"Do you need to come in as well, Kyoudai?"

Mondo, however, only shakes his head silently. 

The bathroom is just as hauntingly quiet as the rest of the building, possibly even more so now that Kiyotaka finds himself alone. He quietly crosses to the mirror, daring to attempt to wipe layers of grime away with naught but a white sleeve; his efforts prove fruitless, however, and he is rewarded only with yet another dark streak marring the fabric. Here stands a triplet of sinks, although he doesn't think they will produce any water. Unfortunately, he finds he shall not be able to wash his hands.

There's also a broken urinal and a standing one, although the stench is overpowering; he decides he may as well use the bathroom while he is here, and looks towards the adjacent three decrepit stalls. 

He skirts carefully around a large hole just in front of the stalls - but immediately backs up upon approaching the stalls, nearly tumbling backwards into the inky abyss.

A blue mist begins to seep from it - just the type of supernatural mist Kiyotaka always discredited as tales in the past. He's naturally afraid, instinctively even.

_You're going to die here. All alone, with nobody to come for you or even care._

The spirit - for that's what the mist is, a spirit, he is sure - advances upon him, joined swiftly by others. Kiyotaka panics.

He rushes to the door only to find that it now refuses to budge, acting as if locked although there appears to be no mechanism present upon it. Falling to the floor with a loud thump and offering his silent gratitude that the unsteady and feeble boards show no sign of splitting beneath his weight, the prefect clamps both hands tightly over his ears as if the action will stop the ghostly chanting. Booted feet quake incessantly behind immaculately tied laces.

_He doesn't care about you... He's going to leave you!_

"No! No! No!" he wails like a broken record, heart racing faster than ever before. He simply won't believe their lies. He _can't_ be all alone again, not like this.

Images flash through his mind of a younger time, a younger time when his peers would crowd around him just as the spirits are doing now. Except his peers had corporeal forms, and would push him - punch him - tease him - ridicule him - tear up his work - spit on him - bruise him - belittle him - make him feel utterly worthless.

Kiyotaka shivers violently, old memories stronger and more vibrant than ever.

_Why would someone like **him** ever be friends with someone like **you?** He's just using you, playing with your emotions! You're pathetic... Absolutely pathetic! Worthless, unimportant._

_He's just going to use you to get what he wants, and then he's going to leave you, empty and even more useless than you already are._

"No! I am not! _He_ will not!" he screams, throat already feeling ragged. The ghostly whispers can't be true... Can they?

_Leave him. Leave him before he can leave you! Isn't it better to be worthless all alone than to be around someone who doesn't even care for you one bit?_

He can only shake his head now, sniffling as his mind picks apart everything Mondo has ever said to him, trying desperately to disprove the spirits' words. But before he can make sense of his muddled thoughts, the sound of splintering wood has him scrambling to his feet, hiding beneath the filthy and hair-filled sinks instinctively. 

But it's Mondo breaking through the door with his bare fists, narrowed lavender eyes glancing frantically to-and-fro until he finally spots the hiding Kiyotaka.

And with the interruption, the ghosts are gone, and it's like a load is gone from the disciplinarian's back. 

"You truly _do_ care for me," he beams, crawling out from beneath the sinks. "How silly of me to think otherwise!" Relief floods through his body, which only grows warmer as Mondo pulls him into an impulsive hug. 

"Ya alright?" he probes, patting short black hair gently. "I know ya can stand on yer own an' all that... but I heard ya screamin', and got real fuckin' scared. I shoulda come with ya." Kiyotaka shakes his head.

"You had no way of knowing, Kyoudai... Please, do not be harsh on yourself! I am only glad that you are here, and that you proved the spirits to be incorrect." He catches Mondo's hand in his own then, brows quirking and lips arranging themselves into a pout at the sight of blood and scratches marring the biker's tanned skin. 

"Kyoudai, do you happen to know where the infirmary is? I must wrap this for you immediately!"

Mondo seems unfazed by the rivulets of crimson dripping slowly down his hand, but he holds up a rusty key all the same.

"Found this earlier. 'S labeled 'Infirmary.' But really, Ishi, this is nothin'! Been through lots worse than this before!"

The stern look Kiyotaka gives him silences him with nothing more than a mumble.

"Fine..."

The disciplinarian nearly drags Mondo to the first floor, where he anticipates their destination shall be. His lips are stonily hardened in anger - or perhaps concern, or perhaps even fear, the biker isn't sure - as he advances closer to where he reasons it must be, only to pause at the sight of something truly horrific.

A wall. 

A wall?

But this isn't simply any old wall.

_This_ wall is covered in a mass of flesh and organs from top to bottom, as if something - or some _one_ \- were splattered against it. Flies buzz around the putrid mess, which reeks strongly of spoiled meat. Despite smelling as if it has been there for weeks, the body - if it could even be described as a body - seems fairly fresh; the blood has not yet finished congealing, and the boys can feel a wave of heat emanating from the pile of intestines and assorted body parts. It almost appears as if the unfortunate victim were flung against the wall at a high speed, skin splitting and organs splattering like wet paint against a blank canvas. Mondo wonders why no bone is visible; perhaps it was thoroughly and utterly pulverized upon impact.

"..." Kiyotaka covers his mouth with a hand, feeling as if he is on the verge of emptying his stomach.

Mondo gulps, for what feels like the millionth time.

"Just... Don't look at it," he whispers as much to himself as to Ishimaru, and ushers the smaller male down the corridor, towards where he hopes the infirmary lies. There's dried blood on the floor here, dried blood that tracks the entire way down, signifying a struggle or perhaps that someone was dragged. Mondo can't help but imagine what that would be like - being yanked down the rough-hewn hallway, flesh catching on splintered, coarse wood and tearing off effortlessly, quickly shearing down a fully fleshed-out cheek to nothing more than bone. He shivers violently, subconsciously bringing a palm up to cup his own cheek.

Finally they approach the door marked "Infirmary," and although the door feels almost like nothing more than a decoration on the wall, the two can do nothing more than hope - hope that the key will somehow work. 

Miraculously, it does, and Kiyotaka lets out a tiny, buoyant cheer as the key clicks, turning in the lock, and the infirmary doors slide open with a dry rattle. 

The tentative first step into the darkened room reveals shabby beds the perfect size for elementary school students, shadowy curtains reminiscent of childhood ghost tales, cluttered cabinets, and a small desk, amongst scattered debris and various mysterious stains.

The beds may be foul and squalid, but Mondo can't help but flop his rear down upon it, taking a much-needed and deserved rest as he cradles his injured fist to his chest. It doesn't particularly hurt - normally, he wouldn't pay any mind to such a wound - but he _does_ have to take into consideration the possibility of infection, in this place. The scraped and scuffed skin of his knuckles is oozing blood, and is even beginning to swell slightly. 

Kiyotaka, simultaneously, paces a circuit around the room, peering inside untidy cabinets and poking around the curious little desk. Advancing towards a tiny sink he'd almost overlooked in the corner, his face falls as he observes that it appears to have run dry. The closet beside it, though, offers something a little more promising: a small bottle of rubbing alcohol. The disciplinarian grins broadly in triumph, happiness spreading even more as he spots a meager roll of gauze and a box of matches in a neighboring cabinet.

"By virtue of chance, I happened to find these here," he asserts upon returning to Mondo, voice hushed as he unloads his discoveries from the cradle of his forearms. "I had wished to be able to wash my hands with soap before delivering first aid to you, but..." He shrugs morosely. 

"I'm gonna be _fine,_ Ishi." Mondo, however, waves the prefect's worries off without a second thought. "I've been through a lot worse shit than this. I ever tell ya 'bout the time I got stabbed?" Although his intention is to show that such a scrape is nothing for him, even with the threat of infection, his heart leaps in worry at the sight of Kiyotaka's face. The prefect's eyes have already begun to well up with an encore of tears, his lower lip trembling before he draws it into his mouth, sinking pearly white teeth into the flesh and only ceasing when crimson blood beads from within.

"You... were stabbed?" he asks, ruby irises wide in horror. Mondo hurriedly shrugs, resting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "More of a graze. Look, 'm fuckin' fine! Ya don't gotta worry 'bout me, Kyoudai."

Kiyotaka nods then, delicately wiping his tears with a sleeve that is surely inundated by muck and filth by now, along with several bodily fluids; a subtle sniff emanates from somewhere within his chest before he turns his attentions back to the matter at hand, kneeling down beside the bed.

Fumbling and inexperienced fingers reach for the roll of gauze - he isn't very well suited for this, he's sure Mondo would be much better off were he instead stuck with that nurse girl a year ahead of them - as he sighs slightly.

As soon as he manages to unroll the dressing from the roll without dropping it, he's grappling with the bottle of alcohol, too nervous to go slowly anymore. The lid falls to the ground, rolls somewhere out of sight and most likely reach - the disciplinarian barely notices, blood rushing loudly in his ears. His Kyoudai's life could quite possibly rest in his - literal - hands. 

Mondo notices none of this however, and Kiyotaka is very well aware of that. Taking a deep breath, the hall monitor readies himself to douse his friend's hand in the disinfectant; ruby meets purple for a split second before his hand tilts, uncertain and nervous motions causing him to accidentally pour more than intended, liquid splashing down and hitting the floor loudly.

The gang leader hisses slightly at the sting, but it's instantaneous and he soon regains his composure, squeezing Kiyotaka's shoulder to reassure him that despite his obvious concern over such a small and inconsequential task, he is doing perfectly fine. In fact, Mondo is certain nobody has taken such care of his wounds since before Daiya mysteriously went missing. The thought of his older brother - presumed dead - leaves somewhat of a bad, melancholic taste in his mouth, but he soon brushes it off. 

Kiyotaka takes Mondo's hand in his - momentarily marveling at its warmth - before he wraps the gauze around the still-wet scratches carefully and tightly, tying the ends together in a makeshift bow. It isn't perfect, and it certainly isn't pretty, but Mondo can't help but be stunned by the meticulous care the prefect is showing.

He stares down at him, floored, for Kiyotaka's touches are gentle, and the opposite of his own. Lavender eyes scan from the smaller male's filthy attire, to the softening crimson of his irises, to the gentle curve of pale pink lips. His gaze lingers on the disciplinarian's lips for longer than he wishes. He can't deny the burgeoning feelings he's had for Kiyotaka for months, but this is neither the time nor place for them, so he suppresses them, squelching them down as he believes the black-haired male will, should he ever dare to confess.

But then Kiyotaka settles back on his haunches, tongue darting out to wet those thin lips, curving upwards so softly, and Mondo knows he's screwed.


	6. Dismal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School, he knows how to deal with. 
> 
> ...But he has absolutely no idea how to deal with his current situation.

School, he knows how to deal with. Working hard to achieve near-perfect grades, avoiding those who will shove him into lockers and steal his belongings, making sure all students will abide by the rules; that he knows how to deal with.

But he has absolutely no idea how to deal with his current situation. 

He has no idea how to deal with running from his life from an unknown enemy, no idea how to deal with the sight of the bodies of his classmates strewn brutally across the barren wasteland he recognizes as a former elementary school.

He has no idea how to deal with the slight comfort of being together with Mondo in this place; he knows they could be torn apart at any time, and thinks he would rather have been alone from the start than have that happen.

Kiyotaka sits back for a moment, letting his tongue dart out to wet his lips as he considers the thoughts he's been mulling over in his brain for some time. Mondo visibly stiffens and looks as if he's about to say something, but the prefect remains oblivious, cutting him off before he can get a word in.

"Kyoudai, this... this entire situation is more dismal and distressing than frightful, surely...?"

He's terrified, it would be impossible to not be terrified, but he can't help but feel more than a bit sorrowful (although he tries to stamp down the strong sense of nausea he feels deep within his gut). Mondo simply stares at him for a moment.

"Yeah, I guess so. Why're ya sayin' that now though?"

Kiyotaka ponders for a moment.

"I suppose I am simply saying that it is rather depressing, not to mention despair-inducing, to consider the idea that the corpses we have seen thus far have all belonged to people rather like ourselves, people with hopes and dreams and families just as we have."

There's utter silence for a moment as the prefect gazes down at his hands.

"How can you remain so calm, Mondo?"

The tears are streaming down his cheeks now in full force; he clenches his fists in the material of his once-white pant legs, refusing to remove his gaze from a particularly intriguing patch of wooden floorboard. 

Mondo only gulps quickly before he's launched himself off the bed, arms wrapped around Kiyotaka with a vengeance as he presses the disciplinarian's face into his shoulder, ignoring the steadily spreading wet spot of tears that emerges.

"'Course I ain't fuckin' calm, Ishi! I'm... I'm fuckin' _scared,_ alright?" He gulps as he admits it, gaze lingering anywhere except at the face which has currently pulled itself away from his chest, staring up at him with bleary ruby eyes.

He never admits being afraid, never so much as looks fear in the eye on a day to day basis.

But he's just said it, and the hall monitor before him only smiles; he's floored.

He wraps his arms around Kiyotaka then, squeezing him tightly as if to reassure himself that they're both still here, and that they're both still alive.

He gulps, because he has to tell him.

He considers keeping quiet, but then he's imagining his own dead body adorning the halls, strung up on a banister rail like some grotesque decoration - and he shudders violently.

"I-Ishi, listen, I... I gotta tell ya somethin', ok?"

Sensing the urgency in the biker's voice, Kiyotaka simply nods silently.

"And I ain't gonna say it again, so better listen good, okay?"

Without giving another glance towards the disciplinarian, Mondo clears his throat loudly, fixating his gaze on a suddenly extremely interesting point on the ceiling.

"I-I like ya, okay? L-Like... more than just as fuckin' friends... I wanna hold ya, and take ya places, a-and shit like that... I know this ain't the fuckin' time for this kinda shit, and I wasn't gonna tell ya, but I was thinkin' 'bout how either of us could die any moment, a-and I needed to tell ya... how I felt..."

His nervous rambling is cut off by the sensation of Kiyotaka gently taking his hands in his; he gulps, lavender eyes flitting down to meet the disciplinarian's matching crimson.

"You are correct: this is not the time, nor is it the place for matters of the heart."

Mondo looks down again, anticipating a lecture.

"Still, I must inform you that I do reciprocate said feelings."

He whips his head up so hard he thinks he must be at risk for whiplash; Kiyotaka's face is flushed as well, and he becomes acutely aware of the fact that they're sitting on a decrepit and filthy floor in a cursed school with only their uncertainty and corpses for company.

"R-Really?"

The prefect only nods.

"D-Don't fuckin' die, Ishi, and w-we can go on a date when we escape from here!" It's awkward phrasing, and he doesn't add the obvious and unspoken _if_ we escape from here.

Once more, Kiyotaka only offers up a silent nod.

"I would like that very much, Kyoudai."

But before either can say any more, the floor begins to rumble fiercely, lights cracking in the ceiling and raining down broken glass onto the two males.

Kiyotaka scoots to the side, tucking himself into a ball as he attempts to shield his head.

Mondo does his best to protect the smaller boy, but as soon as the earthquake's begun, it stops.

They take advantage of the slight lull given to them by the school in the most fortuitous of serendipitous occasions; sensing that only misfortune will befall them inside the infirmary, they hurry into the hallway as fast as their still-shaking legs will carry them, chests heaving with fear and exertion.

"L-Let's go to the entrance," Mondo pants, still floored to discover that the disciplinarian shares his feelings.

Kiyotaka only nods, but pauses as soon as the tread of an immaculately-laced leather military boot steps firmly upon a small object, which crunches slightly under Kiyotaka's weight.

Stooping to the floor to scoop up the item while holding his breath to counteract the corpse's stench, the prefect is surprised to discover it is simply a student ID nametag; he recognizes them from his middle school years, and he is sure he would have continued to wear them if not for Hope's Peak's ElectroID system.

There's a copious amount of blood on the nametag, and he hastily wipes it off on his now-multicolored jacket top to reveal the name "Suzumoto Mayu." He glances towards the still-steaming mountain of flesh and organs, then back to the tiny pin again with a sad grimace.

"Kyoudai." His voice is tinny and weak within the sonorous space of the hallway; he winces at the worn-out and exhausted tone.

Mondo glances back.

"Perhaps we should gather all the nametags we can find from the deceased?" He holds up the corpse's - Suzumoto Mayu's - tag to show the other male, watching as a small white paper scrap drifts lazily to the floor.

Mondo only nods, looking more than a little wistful as he bends to grab the paper, bringing it closer to his face for inspection.

"This kinda looks like that charm we did, dontcha think?"

Kiyotaka only nods hurriedly.

"Yes. Do you suppose - by some odd supernatural event - that charm could have caused us to end up here?"

It's Mondo's turn to nod quickly, glancing from side to side for any hint of a new threat.

"In any case, we should at least collect these nametags; to honor those who have died."

Another quick nod; it's another moment of stillness before the boys continue, Kiyotaka still with the girl's nametag clutched tightly in his fist.


	7. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiyotaka wails miserably, for he is absolutely alone, and a sharp pain is blossoming in the back of his head.

It’s another moment of silence before Kiyotaka brings himself to speak, tongue sticking thickly to the roof of his mouth momentarily as he struggles to find his voice; his grip unconsciously tightens on the nametag, still concealed tightly within the protection of his fist. 

“Kyoudai… what shall we do if pursuing the entryway proves to be a fruitless endeavor?” He’s slightly less afraid now, even in the face of such a grim possibility; he’s had a moment to acclimate himself to his surroundings, and despite the corpses littering the desolate hallways is determined to escape with his remaining classmates. 

Mondo, however, only shakes his head vehemently.

“Don’t wanna think ‘bout it, ‘m sure we’re gonna find somethin’ soon.” He, conversely, is much more nervous than the other; he’s still positively floored at the discovery that Kiyotaka shares his feelings. He knows such a dismal and hope-deficient situation is the worst place for confessions of a romantic nature; in any case, he’s only glad to have been able to let the disciplinarian know how he felt, should anything happen, as much as he suppresses the thought. 

He shakes his head, reaching to grab the prefect’s hand as he runs down the hallway at a brisk pace. Celerity is of the essence now, as with every moment they waste, another one of their classmates could be perishing, alone and in agony. He’s still not entirely sure what this place is, but it is most definitely supernatural in nature. 

Kiyotaka flinches as they pass a particularly macabre picture plastered to the wall; it depicts what appears to be a small child, mouth open grotesquely wide, razor-sharp fangs protruding from within. Surrounding the child’s silhouette are a number of other ominous youths, each holding a pair of enormous scissors and sporting a malicious grin. A shiver darts rapidly up the prefect’s spine as he can’t seem to shake the feeling that the children’s charcoaled, penciled-in eyes are following him as he disappears down the hall and around the corner.

The layout of the school does not seem to differ from that of a normal elementary school, and as such it is not an inordinate amount of time before they encroach upon the entryway, or at least what they believe must be it. The first thing the hall monitor spots as he glances around, though, is the vast quantity of shoes, each so small that it would only be fit for a small child, scattered about the floor, some alone and some in pairs, but all abandoned. The second thing, the small piece of paper conveniently stapled to the wall: “Return home immediately. Those who linger will go hungry, and die of starvation.”

The third thing he spots is the small copse of bodies a small ways off to the side. Each one of them appears as if hacked by some sort of bladed weapon, such as an axe. In fact, when Kiyotaka ventures closer, he can even catch sight of the handle of such a weapon, protruding from the back of one of the slumped-over dead. The other end is presumably buried somewhere deep within the unfortunate boy’s flesh. 

Steeling himself and holding his breath avoid breathing in the putrid and acrid stench, the disciplinarian hurriedly stoops to collect the three nametags - Miura Masayuki, Ninomiya Chieko, and Yamazaki Kahori - before continuing, nearly tripping over his own booted toes as he rushes to catch up to where the biker stands, waiting patiently, sympathetic look painting his own face. 

The two boys, at long last, burst into the entryway, rushing for the door with hardly a care for their surroundings and tugging on it will all their might. It proves to be an ineffectual effort; the door moves no more than would a thousand-pound boulder, behaving sincerely as if it were only painted upon the wall. Kiyotaka backs away even as Mondo continues to yank at the door, muscles bulging as he strains; the prefect can’t help but tear up slightly, falling to his knees upon the floor as abject terror grips him in its firm hold once more. Ruby irises shrink to the size of pinpricks as he chokes on air alone, clapping a filthy palm over his mouth as his eyes water, liquid streaming down his cheeks and over his fingers. He tastes blood on his fingers, and immediately pulls his hands away from his mouth, staggering to his feet and successfully pulling an enraged Mondo away from the door. 

“Please - we cannot remain here all day!” he beseeches, eyes wide and tears flying. “This door will not miraculously open if we are here long enough! We must locate another way out! Kyoudai, I beg you!”

Perhaps it’s his words, or perhaps it’s his usage of the biker’s nickname that finally breaks Mondo out of his panicked rage; the taller male’s shoulders slump in defeat as he clenches his hands into tight, white-knuckled fists. 

“Y-Yeah, yer right Ishi. Yer right. L-Let’s just fuckin’ go, ok?”

Neither of them is sure what to do next, and both are disheartened, although Mondo softly pats the smaller on the shoulder, giving his short-cropped black hair a brief ruffle. 

They wander the hallways in a seemingly aimless fashion for what appears to be hours, collecting nametags and searching futilely for a way out. 

"...I am beginning to become hungry, Kyoudai, and that worries me," the prefect confesses finally, fingers fumbling with the name tags he is holding as he tries not to let his stomach churn. Although, he supposes, feeling nauseous might not be too bad; after all, it may take his mind off the fact that he has not eaten for an indeterminate amount of time. He can’t help but think of the poster his eyes caught sight of, in the main hallway.

"Look, we're gonna get outta here," Mondo reassures in return as he reaches for another name tag - this one belonging to an elementary-school aged girl with a broken neck - pausing briefly to read the name inscribed upon it. "Higashikuni Tadako." What leaves an unsettling sensation in his own gut is the fact that he is now unfazed by the sight of a dead body; the familiar retching and nausea has long since passed, and each corpse only wrings a pitiful grimace from his lips as he searches for their nametags, for something to return to their families. 

The two boys continue onward down the hall, only pausing when they reach the staircase leading to the third floor.

There's another body lying on the floor here, albeit this one appears to be somewhat older than the others they've been seeing recently. A full state of decay has not yet set in, however, although bones show here and there through torn skin and underneath rotting organs. The corpse appears to be that of a young man, draped in blood-stained and torn white fabric of indeterminate origin; his eyes appear to have been gouged out of their sockets, deep marks etched and carved harshly into the bone; and although it is not immediately visible, the dried blood near the cadaver's mouth coupled with the state of the other nearby bodies suggests the tongue is missing as well. Upon closer inspection, it appears that the man was rather handsome, at one time or another, although now his face - skin giving way to patches of skull at some points - is mangled beyond recognition. Chunks of black hair remain clinging to his scalp like oily weeds, but most of it has already decomposed.

Deep and bloody cuts mar the body's cheeks, as if inflicted by a knife; if not already true due to the extent of decomposition, determining the man's identity solely from his face is most certainly now impossible and futile to even attempt. 

The most striking thing about this corpse, however, is the fact that a long metal pole - the end of which, despite abundant layers of grime, rust, and dried blood, is still honed to a deadly sharp point - extends completely through and beyond the body, sinking into the wooden floorboards which will forever be stained crimson with the young man's blood. Entrails, still in the process of decomposing, are arranged haphazardly about the pole, curling around its length; yet more spill out of the gaping abdominal laceration, intestines dangling. The railing belonging to the staircase above the cadaver is broken and splintered, suggesting he fell onto the pole from a height. There is no doubt that, whoever this man was, he met an excruciatingly painful demise.

"Poor fucker," Mondo verbalizes quietly, shaking his head softly as he gazes down upon the pitiful remains. His stomach refuses to twist, although he wishes it would. Somehow he believes feeling sick at the sight of death will make him more human again. Still, he reaches down, fumbling at the inside of the man's jacket for the familiar shape and texture of an ID tag. He finds one, but it’s the farthest thing from what he's looking for. 

The nametag slips from Mondo's now trembling fingers the second he reads the name, hitting the ground with a sound that might be overlookable in a normal setting but now seems intolerably loud. Pupils widening and his entire body quivering in anguish, the biker staggers backwards with a loud gulp, pressing his palms hard to his face as he lets out a loud and torturous wail punctuated by loud words of denial. He doesn't even care how much noise he's making anymore; his lungs have started refusing to work properly as he begins to hyperventilate, overtaken by grief and torment, losing himself to the despair of the school. 

Befuddled beyond belief, Kiyotaka moves closer, watching his Kyoudai, who by now has removed his hands from his face and wandered a tentative step or two nearer to the body, tears streaming down his cheeks. The disciplinarian doesn't think he's ever seen Mondo cry this much; he cannot help but obliviously wonder just what has upset him so. 

He watches as the gang leader sinks to his knees, cradling the dead man's head and shoulders in his arms as he continues to sob loud sobs of loss and agony. The prefect has to look away, wishing to give Mondo privacy with this person he obviously recognizes and cares about.

Finally glancing back towards the biker's form with a worried, perturbed expression as the cries grow even louder, Kiyotaka moves to make a swipe at the seemingly innocuous nametag lying on the filthy floor beside the corpse, curious who could be so important to Mondo; however, the small metal clip soon clatters to the floor once more, only seconds after being picked up. The prefect can't believe what he's seeing; surely there must be some error, some miscalculation. He's never known or met the man personally, but there's no mistaking it. The resemblance is clear; he should have realized it earlier.

The nametag quite clearly reads "Oowada Daiya," although the letters have become encrusted with blood since the older brother's death. Kiyotaka makes a dismal, pitiful attempt to discern if the letters could spell something else - if the blood could have covered something up, if the body could perhaps match that of another person - but there's simply nothing for it. 

There's nobody the tag could have belonged to, except for Oowada Daiya.

Shakily straightening his body, Kiyotaka moves finally towards the younger Oowada, who by now is on his feet once more, crying harder than ever. Wishing nothing more than to comfort the larger male, the prefect latches on, wrapping his arms tightly around Mondo's waist and pressing his face tightly into a muscular chest which is far more tense than usual, pressing up tightly to the boy who'd confessed to him, the boy he shares a close friendship with, the boy he cares so deeply for.

"M-Mondo...?" he asks gently, giving the waist a gentle squeeze as he glances up, towards the gang leader's face; he's surprised to see those familiar violet eyes harsh and steeled with pain, as opposed to the soft lavender he's apt to see turned his way. The voice comes ragged and anguished, but the tone is so much crueler than anything Kiyotaka’s ever heard from the male, even when they were rivals. 

"Fuck off! Just shut the hell up already and get the fuck outta my sight before I-!"

The next thing Kiyotaka knows, he's falling to the floor - he lands hard, the back of his head whacking solidly against the rough floorboards as he feels pain blossom throughout his head. He's sure he's seeing stars for a moment. 

Mondo gulps, a pang of guilt streaking through his subconscious at having tossed Kiyotaka carelessly to the ground like so many potatoes, but he suppresses it and ignores it. He can't allow himself to be close to the hall monitor, not unless he desires to see him cold and dead on the ground just like Daiya. Daiya, he reminds himself, turning back to the corpse and gulping thickly. Blinded by grief, he realizes he cannot possibly stick around the area any longer; clenching his hands into fists so tightly his knuckles are visibly white, he turns roughly on his heel, coat flapping idly behind him, and stalks off into the darkness. 

Kiyotaka is left rubbing his throbbing head as he lurches unsteadily to his feet, blinking in slight confusion as he attempts to fathom what has just happened. Teetering on rickety legs, he wobbles to the beginning of the hallway ahead, tears streaming down pallid cheeks; there's no sign of Mondo at all.

"M-Mondo?" he calls, in a warbling and fearful tone that he's sure conveys exactly how anxious he is.

There's no reply but for his own echo.

As if to solidify the fact that Mondo has abandoned him, a peal of deafening thunder abruptly sounds as lightning flashes, jagged beams of yellow fulmination striking up both the window and the darkened hallway with bright light for a moment. In the brief moment the corridor is illuminated, yet more bodies lie, as if taunting Ishimaru with the thought that he, Mondo, or any of their other classmates could so easily end up in a similar state.

Kiyotaka doesn't think he wants to know exactly what sorts of dreadful things lie ahead, but one thing is absolutely certain.

He is completely and utterly alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should apologize for this chapter I'm sorry


	8. Deceit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The names of the dead students are just random names unless you recognize them from either Dangan Ronpa or Corpse Party.  
> \---
> 
> All alone, Kiyotaka has no choice but to proceed, a decision which ultimately leads to more than one unexpected find.

It takes a distraught Kiyotaka more than a moment to find his balance, nails digging deep into the rough wood of the wall he finds himself clutching as if it is a lifeline. Perhaps the slight pain of the splinters jutting into his flesh helps to ground him, to keep at bay the shimmering tears which (having ceased moments ago) threaten to spill from his eyes once more; or perhaps that isn't the case at all, for the evidence of his lamentation spills from his eye sockets with all the hesitation of an eager child on Christmas morning. That is to say, with no hesitation whatsoever.

Some instinct deep within his gut tells him that attempting to follow Mondo down the void of a darkened hallway the biker disappeared into will ultimately achieve nothing by this point, and so he decides that the best course of action available to him at the moment is to simply retrace his steps, if the layout of his environment is even remotely the same as he remembers. There is nothing predictable about this world, save for the certainty of unbearable agonies and the overwhelming stench of death and necrosis which surrounds. 

Before he can take more than a single step in his determined direction, though, a loud rumble resounds from seemingly everywhere; the ground begins to shake beneath his booted feet, and he slips to the floor as he instinctively cowers in a corner from the spontaneous earthquake. The corner is mercifully corpse-free and spiderless, but that does nothing to help comfort Kiyotaka as he is rendered entirely helpless, unable to do anything more than tremble beneath the relative safety of his forearms, agitated and tear-laden eyes the color of rubies peering out at the destruction all around.

The noise and rumbling is quite possibly louder than anything the poor disciplinarian has ever heard in his life, and it seems entirely plausible that the floor underneath him may cave in at any instant. Large pieces of rubble, whatever they may be - concrete, or wood, or desks from the floor above, or perhaps even corpses - crash down seemingly around his ears, each sound impossibly loud. The dust kicked up by each impact wreaks havoc on his respiratory system, but he remains silent, jammed into a corner, back aching relentlessly.

Despite everything ensuing, the looming and ominous windows lining the hall refuse to shatter or even crack at the force of the quake; quite to the contrary, they remain as immobile as if they were nothing more than empty paint on the wall.

With each long second that passes, Kiyotaka's hope diminishes exponentially. 

When the earthquake is finally over, the noise completely dissipated and the dust settled, Kiyotaka dares to emerge from his refuge. To his abject shock and surprise, things look... different. 

The hallway appears to have a different tint to it, and he might be inclined to believe it only to be a trick of the light, were the hallway also not containing a door which most certainly was not present before. 

That's when it hits him, as hard as the hypothetical blow of a hammer against the side of his mortal skull.

The school must be evolving, its layout changing with each earthquake that passes.

At this realization, he suddenly feels as if he is liable to collapse, to have his legs give out from under his body; and so he tells himself that he's _Kiyotaka Ishimaru_ , he's the best prefect Hope's Peak Academy has ever seen, he's _hard-working,_ he's _determined_ , he doesn't give up this easily. He has goals, things he wishes to accomplish during his life, and he isn't going to let a ghost infested, corpse riddled school rob him of his dreams, or those of his friends. He can do it.

But in his heart, he knows it isn't true; it can't be. He's only a bossy crybaby of a man who can't seem to do anything but rely on others in the face of this abject terror. This is nothing like facing a dangerous miscreant.

No, no, no. If he can do his day to day tasks in a calm and efficient manner, he can do this too - control himself and not break down in the face of adversity. Nothing can hold him back anymore, not even fear.

He, Kiyotaka Ishimaru, grandson of Prime Minister Toranosuke Ishimaru, is going to succeed in rescuing his remaining classmates. 

Rejuvenated, he lets out a small sound of determination before he heads toward the ominous door, boots striking the wooden floor loudly and decisively. He pauses, though, when he reaches the door, hand outstretched just before the knob. 

Images of a hopeful nature having previously crossed his mind, they swiftly begin to turn into images of a decidedly less optimistic potential future, images he doesn't want to think about - and yet they remain, ghastly, blood-filled and ingrained into his very retinas. A quick shake of his head does its best to dislodge them, with some modicum of success. 

With a decisive gulp, he twists the door open, only to be greeted with rain.

_Rain?_

Hardly daring to believe his crimson eyes, he staggers to the banister rail of the catwalk he has found himself upon; his brain vaguely registers the presence of another door at the other end, but that is far from his largest concern at the moment. 

The fact that he is outside - _outside,_ raindrops falling on his face and a chilly breeze ghosting against his cheeks! - takes a much larger precedence in his mind. 

There are trees - a wooded, arboreal area, stretching for _who knows_ how far - just up ahead, and if he can only jump this railing he is sure he can escape. Not until he's found his surviving friends, of course, but the fact that he has _found a potential escape route_ lifts his sorrow-ridden heart and fills it with joy, and a burgeoning sense of hope. There is nothing that can be done about the dead, but at the very least - at the very least! - he can do something to save those of his friends whose hearts still pump and whose lungs still gasp for breath. 

It isn't until he flops over the railing breathlessly, with an exuberant smile quirking his lips upward, not giving a care to the growing wetness of rain soaking through his uniform, that he spots the literal _dozens_ of bodies lying face-first in the jade-colored grass.

The shock and despair sets in so quickly to Kiyotaka's body, it's as if his still-beating heart were quite literally ripped from his chest. Nails digging into the wood of the railing - he ignores the sharp jab of a splinter into his flesh - he sinks his teeth into his lower lip, quivering as he pays no mind to the salty, metallic blood which wells up from the small wound. 

There are simply so many bodies here, in various states of decay - and, indeed, various states of completeness. Perhaps it's some facet of the school, or by virtue of these bodies lying in the muck and cold of the outside world - but his eyes can't help but be drawn to the swarms of insects, moving, squirming, _wriggling_ inside vacant eye sockets, the tiniest ribbons of shredded flesh still clinging to the bleached white bones --

Kiyotaka screams. It's a gut-wrenching, raw sound which conveys his terror and panic, not to mention his overwhelming, crushing sense of despair - but it's prematurely cut off when a blue, diaphanous figure pops up in front of the disciplinarian from out of nowhere. The ghost - for it appears similar to the spirits in the bathroom earlier, and that's what they are, spirits, surely? - appears to be that of a small boy, although his expression is far from childish. In fact, it's positively murderous, a terrifying fact which is only exacerbated by the bloodstained, rusty pair of scissors which hang limply by his side - hang limply, at least for the time being.

The ghostly boy's grin widens maliciously as he raises the scissors, opening and closing them menacingly as he opens his mouth to reveal the ghastly lack of a tongue. He utters words which the terrified disciplinarian can't quite make out, although they sound something rather like _"play with me."_

He can't move, quite literally paralyzed with fear - although he doesn't know if it's the ghost's doing or his own body's failure causing it - and then, suddenly, he _can_ , and he scrambles down the corridor as fast as he can, the cerulean figure swiftly following him, giggling in his ears.

The prefect finally makes it through the door, slamming it with decisive finality, although when he peers through the window with some trepidation there is no sign of the small ghost boy. The hall monitor heaves a heavy sigh in relief, although he is soaked to the skin, and puddles are quickly forming around his sodden boots, which squelch sickeningly with every step he takes. Uniform completely inundated with rainwater, he shivers, growing colder with every passing instant. His head aches for no discernible reason, and the air feels full, although he finds himself unable to describe exactly how it feels. 

At last able to observe his new surroundings, the disciplinarian is dismayed to discover it does not appear to be much different from the wing he had been in previously. Staggering forward, he braces his hand on the wall, forcing himself to move forward. 

He hasn't continued much farther into the new corridor, however, before finally, _finally_ \- or perhaps he shouldn't be so jubilant about it, for who knows who it could be? - Kiyotaka spots a figure in the darkness ahead of him. Luckily for him, though, it's a figure he can't help but recognize. After all, who else would have such a shock of vibrant carrot-orange hair, spiked up in what must have been intended to be an alluring fashion?

"Kuwata-kun!" he exclaims in relief; as often as the baseball player has irritated him in the past, either through his blatant disregard for the rules or for simply his attitude in general, the hall monitor has never been so pleased to see the other youth. 

"Ishimaru? You ok?"

Despite the rough outward appearance of the redheaded male, it is immediately obvious that he, too, is pleased to see the prefect. The corner of his mouth tilts upward in a grin that bears a hint of relief, and he rushes toward the cold and shivering hall monitor, wrapping his jacket around the other male's shoulders in a rather unexpected display of friendship.

Kiyotaka nods, relieved beyond belief - or, more specifically, thankful for small mercies - that he has found one of his friends alive. He doesn't know how long he can keep the other male living and breathing, but he is determined to do his best.

He notices, now, that a small, bloodstained canvas bag appears to be ensnared within the redhead's grip. Opening his mouth - only to have no sound escape from within - he points to it, curiosity evident in the dimmed lights of his scarlet eyes. Leon only smirks. 

"Come here, Ishi, ya gotta get warmed up or somethin'. Good to see ya alive."

Smiling slightly, the hall monitor follows his friend, determined to get some answers and to regain some of the hope he's lost.


	9. Depths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I haven't updated this since last year forgive me. also warning for near-drowning. also the first chapter has been updated so go read that again.
> 
> ***
> 
> More mysteries of the school become clear, and Kiyotaka finds himself with a whole new slew of problems.

With his teeth chattering and the baseballer's studded and miraculously still-white leather jacket slung hastily around his sopping wet, soaked shoulders, Kiyotaka has no choice but to follow the other male, trusting him blindly. The doubt occurs to him that perhaps this isn't the real Leon but, rather, some imposter; but the thought buzzes away before it can truly take root inside his dazed and frightened skull. It isn't like he has much of a choice in the matter, as the red-headed male's grip is uncomfortably tight around his wrist, and he seems determined in his movements, each squish of his water-logged platform shoes echoing throughout the rickety and unstable corridors. 

"Kuwata-kun?" the disciplinarian manages finally, relieved when at last Leon listens to him (for perhaps the first time ever) and skids to a halt, turning to him with a fire in his eyes the likes of which Kiyotaka has never seen. If the gravity of their situation hadn't already hit the hall monitor with all the impact of a hammer to the back of the head, that very look would do the job. It shakes Kiyotaka to the core, and he gulps before continuing.

"W-Where are we going?"

He isn't graced with a reply; rather, the baseballer only jerks his bright orange shock of hair in the direction of the staircase, gently tugging at the disciplinarian's wrist as if to say _we'd better get moving._

The wood of these stairs seems perhaps even more decrepit than the rotting planks in the other wing of the school; the amount of decay and deterioration here is so severe it seems almost as if with one misstep Kiyotaka will break through the steps. It is only by some rare virtue of luck that he does not. 

Eventually, Leon leads the way to a small alcove, which appears to have been transformed (hastily) into a stronghold of sorts. Set neatly between two bookshelves are such meager supplies as a rusty old crowbar, a few aged bandages of indeterminate sanitation, and miscellaneous objects of no discernible use. One thing the stronghold is sorely lacking in is any type of food; the hall monitor's stomach offers up a pathetic growl at the mere thought.

A small electric heater is set up in the relative safety of the corner - and although the disciplinarian is wholly unsure as to where the redheaded male found such an item, much less got it to work, he is far too damp and chilled to ask questions. Thankfully, it is battery-operated, and it isn't long before Kiyotaka feels warmth radiating towards his outstretched palms. 

"Hey man, maybe you should take off your jacket?"

Looking up with a start at the sound of the other male's voice, the prefect comes to the realization that his classmate is indeed correct; he sloughs off his customary white jacket top, leaving him in a dress shirt. It is sodden as well, but he has far too much dignity to allow himself to wander around any school - and especially a dangerous school - topless. 

Setting the water-logged jacket flat on the floorboards (and internally cringing as the fabric snags on a large splinter of wood protruding from the ground), Kiyotaka looks up to the sight of his friend, squatting across from him. Silence reigns for a moment. Then:

"Have you... seen anyone?" 

Leon seems solemn, and it isn't like him, but Kiyotaka supposes this place will bring out the serious side in anyone. He opens his mouth, opting for a brief but sincere answer. 

"Yes. Alive I have seen only Kyoudai, but as for Fujisaki-kun and Maizono-kun, well... I'm afraid to say they did not make it." He speaks with as much sensitivity as he can, knowing how close the baseballer and the singer were. As expected, Leon's expression darkens, and his tone is hardened with sadness which does not suit him. 

"I... I see." He doesn't probe any further, and for that the disciplinarian is grateful.

"Is anyone else... deceased?" he asks then, reluctantly, afraid to hear the answer he is certain will be in the affirmative. 

"..." 

Leon is silent for a moment. An uncomfortable hush hangs thickly in the air between the two; the sick feeling in Kiyotaka's stomach only intensifies.

"...Yamada and Oogami." His voice comes out in a rushed, hurried whisper of a breath, uncharacteristically small and weak, as if he realizes that despite his naturally outgoing and confident personality, he too is vulnerable and could very well be the next to fall.

The prefect only nods, but in the next second slips out the one word he tries to hold back:

"How?" 

Leon gives him an odd look, but he has to know; he can only hope that of all his deceased friends, at least one will have gone easily and without pain.

"Well, it looks like Yamada got himself stuck in the library, believe it or not. Claw marks all around the door! Like someone or somethin' was keepin' him there, ya know?" He shudders briefly, too sincerely for it to have been purely for effect. 

"Poor bastard got his head caved in, like someone bashed him with a hammer. And as for Oogami, well, seems like she tried to hurt Asahina, got possessed or some shit." Leon draws his finger in a line sharply across his neck, in the universal sign for dead. 

"Hung herself, man."

Nibbling his lip fiercely, Kiyotaka's eyes widen as he can't seem to do anything more than nod. Glancing to the side, his attention is quickly ensnared by the sight of a small blood-soaked burlap bag. 

"What is inside that bag, Kuwata-kun?"

The redhead only gestures toward it with his head.

"A tongue."

Kiyotaka pauses, cocks his head to the side - surely he must have heard his classmate incorrectly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Like I said, a tongue. Look, you've seen those weird blue ghost kids, right? I found this book, right, and I was readin' it" - and here, the disciplinarian holds back a snort of disbelief at the thought of Leon actually seeking out reading material - "and it said we gotta appease them by findin' their tongues. Didn't ya hear 'bout those murders? All their tongues got cut out."

Kiyotaka nods slowly. 

"So... if we find all the murdered children's missing tongues, does that mean they won't attack us anymore?"

Leon shrugs, but also nods, confusingly enough. 

"Probably. Look, why don't ya hold onto it? Yer better at keepin' track of things anyways."

Fighting his disgust, the prefect agrees, dragging the bag gingerly towards him while holding it only with forefinger and thumb. It makes a disgusting squelch as it moves.

"Kuwata-kun, I believe it would be wise for us to propose a place of reconaissance, if we happen to become split up or have the ability to communicate with the others. Does the entrance hall sound acceptable?"

Once more, the redhead only nods.

Before either one can say anything more, a high-pitched, feminine, _juvenile_ scream pierces through the air, undoubtedly that of an elementary school girl. Leon immediately jumps to his feet, admirably battle-ready. 

"You stay here, Ishi," he warns seriously; it's a request which Kiyotaka is only too happy to acquiesce to, despite his burgeoning guilt. 

"If I'm not back in ten minutes, **don't** come lookin' for me. I mean it." With those ominous words, he disappears into the darkness, leaving the disciplinarian with only the feeble light of the heater, a crowbar, and miscellaneous oddities for company. His skin prickles, as if eyes are watching him from the uncertain murk of the shadows. 

What he estimates to be ten minutes (for his watch seems to have frozen in place) crawls by slower than molasses but finally, heart pounding violently against his ribcage, he decides that he has to move on. Hopefully he will be able to meet up with the baseballer later, at the designated place.

Comforting himself with this thought, while simultaneously wondering if he is cursed to be alone in this place, Kiyotaka gets shakily to his feet. His jacket, while not entirely dry, is crisp enough to be slipped back on, and he does so, grimacing at its faint aroma of blood. 

Opting to grab the crowbar for security, he stoops to salvage whatever supplies he can - and comes up nearly empty handed, with only an oddly sweet scented bottle of beads and a purple crystal for his efforts. He wonders briefly if he should attempt to lug the heater with him, but upon second inspection, realizes it is far too heavy to carry any impressive distance.

Forcing his unsteady body to cooperate with his will, he heads off in the direction he came from, with one last glance to the stronghold. 

Although he has barely seen any of the second wing, some instinct deep within Kiyotaka's gut tells him to head back to the main portion of the school, and so he does, feeling the strange fog surrounding his head clear the second he sets foot onto the walkway separating the two buildings.

This time, the blue ghost child is nowhere to be seen, and the prefect heaves a deep sigh of relief. Focusing his attention solely on the path, he is soon able to cross without incident. 

Kiyotaka decides to take the alternate path this time, and almost immediately comes across a hole in the floor, so massive that it appears insurmountable. But upon closer inspection, it appears that it is not very deep, and could rather easily be crossed. Despite this, the hall monitor would have gone the other way - had he not spotted something suspicious, deep within the crevice. 

Bracing the crowbar into the ground of the hole for support, he awkwardly shimmies down it and into the depths - only to be greeted with the stench of rot. It's a smell which is prevalent throughout the school, but it is far more pronounced within the confines of the area Kiyotaka has found himself in, and he holds back a hacking cough to the best of his ability. 

Bodies are strewn about the hole, likely lured in by how deceptively shallow it appears from above, and the prefect is suddenly infinitely thankful for the crowbar, still propped up against the opening. 

He's afraid to look at the bodies, but finds that he must; thankfully, he knows none of the faces, and although some of the corpses are overturned or decayed beyond recognition, no uniforms look familiar. He steps carefully around the limbs of the deceased - an arm here, a leg there - and towards the site of the object he'd spotted earlier. Ruby eyes widen to the size of dinner plates as he recognizes the shape and texture of a small burlap bag, identical to the one given to him by Leon. 

The only issue lies in the fact that this bag is located directly underneath a mass of at least three decomposing bodies, in such a state of disarray that it is practically impossible to discern which remains once belonged to which individual. 

Kiyotaka retreats a step, gulping; he is a brave man, however, a man who will lead his family to greatness - and so he must do this, however horrid and ghastly a task as it may be.  
It doesn't seem quite so bad, he thinks to himself as he is able to gently grasp a corner of the bag without incident - but that's only until he gives a gentle pull. In one solid motion, it's as if the pile has melted - a tide of viscera, blood and other assorted fluids sweeps toward Kiyotaka, splashing on his boots and making him yelp in fear. Hastily he wipes his hands off on his soiled jacket, every instinct in his body screaming for him to get out of the pit. 

It takes a moment, even with the help of the crowbar, and he is sure that if he were less physically strong, he would not have been able to escape. Collecting himself, he presses on, heart still thumping strongly in his chest from fear. At the very least, though, it tells him that he is truly still alive, as alone as he may feel. 

The next area is full of grey colors and tones, and appears to have once been a functioning shower or locker room. The sink is predictably broken, and at its base sits a grate, presumably for draining excess water. Nearby is a shelf of cubbies, toppled to the floor, the wood broken and splintering. The floor tiles are loose and cracked; Kiyotaka nearly trips upon one, making his way through the room. He eyes the broken showerheads for only a brief moment before hurrying to the adjacent room, lured by the sound of water.

He is greeted with the sight of a pool, its water greenish and undoubtedly polluted with innards. A rough chainlink fence surrounds the edge of the roof, presumably to give off the impression of safety - but it is broken, and surely would buckle underneath any substantial weight. 

It's actively raining outside here, large raindrops falling from the sky in an eerily normal and mundane fashion; Kiyotaka rushes to the edge, looks over in hopes of a way down, in hopes of finding a way out - but all his frantic, fear-widened crimson eyes spy is pitch, inky blackness, so deep as if to swallow even the slightest hints of hope and dashes of light. 

He backs away slowly, shoulders slumping in defeat, as he ventures closer to the murky pool, eyes flickering over the grimy and brackish water, which undoubtedly thinly veils the decomposing bodies of an indeterminate amount of his peers, some of which he assuredly knows, their skin peeling and eyeballs melting, corpses disintegrating into a mushy and grotesque stew of organs and bones and blood sloshing about in the already filthy water - and Kiyotaka clamps a hand over his mouth, for his stomach twists violently within the space of his thoracic cavity. 

Despite the fact he is somehow aware that the object he needs lies within the murky depths, there isn't much the disciplinarian can do except back away before moving forward to peer closely at the oddly greenish-brown water, if the liquid in the pool could even be referred to as water. It's all he can do, at least until a booted foot skids and slips on something foreign and he gets a far closer look at the literal _innards_ of the pool than he ever wished to. He slams the posterior of his head hard on the concrete as the waves part around his body, immediately drenching his clothes and weighing him down; blood seeping lazily and pain blossoming from the wound lacerating his scalp, he gasps for air, inadvertently gulping down a mouthful of disgusting, briny, visceral fluid. Limbs floundering and feet failing to reach the bottom, Kiyotaka's desperate attempt at treading water is useless. With pain spreading through his skull and the weight of his sodden clothes dragging him down, he soon submerges, gulping down mouthfuls of gory, grisly water in his frenzy. By the most miraculous of coincidences, his fingertips brush against a small, no doubt blood-saturated canvas bag in the process; he curls his hand around it unconsciously as he quite literally slips from consciousness, sinking to the depths of the pool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this boy better stop hitting his head or he's gonna get a goddamn brain bleed and fucking die, no ghosts or spirits needed

**Author's Note:**

> Comments would be lovely! This is my first crossover fic and my first horror fic, so I'd love to know how I'm doing!  
> Discussion and speculation on who will die next is very much welcomed in the comments :)


End file.
